A Minor Inconvenience
by Calypsy
Summary: When Clarke moved out of her hometown for her fiance and found the perfect job, she thought that everything was falling into place. But she loses both things when she finds Finn sleeping with her boss. Nearly broke and with nowhere else to go, she returns to her city and ends up living with her best friend's brother; a stranger with quite the reputation.
1. Kinda Home Again?

Things were going great in my life. Fucking perfect, in fact.  
But you know the thing about perfection?  
It just doesn't last.

So here I am, standing in front of Octavia's door at 4 a.m with everything I own piled into my car. You know, because that's what mature adults who have their shit together clearly spend their time doing.

I shoot O a text to let her know I'm here, since her boyfriend has work early in the morning and the last thing I want to do is be the cause of a grumpy Lincoln.

The door swings open almost immediately and there she stands, her dark hair a disheveled mess, but her eyes are alert and I know that she's been up waiting for me.

"Oh, sweetie."

Those two words undo the facade of okay-ness that I had carefully crafted on the hour long drive to her. I don't cry, but I feel my eyes stretch as wide as they can go and panic begins to rise within me. "Octavia, I don't know what I'm going to do. Fucking Finn ju-"

In one stride she's outside with me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders as if the extra support will keep me from literally falling to pieces on her doorstep. "I know, I know. We don't have to talk about it right now. Come inside, Clarke."

I don't have the strength to argue, and maybe I don't want to. Maybe I want to pretend like the last 24 hours didn't occur, like everything is hunky-fucking-dory and I didn't just lose my job and my fiance. I nod numbly into the crook of her neck as she ushers me inside.

She makes me take a shower, which seems ridiculous at first, but once I'm directly under the stream of scalding water I realize just how much I need it. I need to cleanse my body and soul and function like a normal person. Routine is comfort.  
Octavia sits on the bathroom counter and talks to me while I lather my hair, telling me about Lincoln's new promotion and how the renovations are coming. I hear the unspoken offer in her words; if I haven't found a place by the time they finish with the guest room, I can stay with her. But I know they have other things to focus on, like the master bathroom and the kitchen and literally everything that is far more important than the guest bedroom.

When I turn off the shower, her arm pops through the curtain with a wonderfully fluffy towel. And crazy enough, this lovely little object of luxury makes me want to cry. I laugh bitterly at the thought; after everything that happened, it's a freaking towel that almost brings me to tears.

I stay up for a few hours, sitting in front of Octavia on the couch. First she combs through my hair, her fingers deft and gentle among my outrageous tangles, and then she braids it. When she finishes with that, we sit in silence for a while, her hands scratching lazy circles on my upper back. That sensation is the last thing I'm aware of before I doze off.

* * *

Three days pass, and I delve into a new sense of normalcy. I wake up at 5 am with Lincoln and we share a mug of coffee in companionable silence. He leaves for work, and I work on the house. I'm not the most handy of people so I'm not incredibly helpful, but I do what I can. Which is mostly painting. Eventually the day comes to a close and Octavia forces me to stop working, but I'm too wound up to relax. I spend the rest of each night looking for affordable rooms, but I put most of the money I saved into the apartment with Finn and I'm hesitant to tie myself to anything else without a stable job.

On the fourth night, Octavia comes to sit beside me at the kitchen counter.

"Clarke, I think I have somewhere for you to stay."

This gets my attention, and I look at her expectantly.

"You're not going to love it, but it's a hell of a lot cheaper than anything else you'll find." She takes a deep breath as if she's steeling herself, and that makes me worry. "My brother's roommate moved out."

This wasn't awesome news for me. I had never even met Octavia's brother. "No, Octavia you know I can't..." I trail off. My initial vehement opposition wears off rather quickly when I realize that I don't exactly have many other choices. "Rent?," I ask suspiciously, slowly shutting the lid of my laptop.

"Murphy had already paid for the next two months and he's rolling in cash now so he didn't bother asking for it back. You'll have that time to find a job and figure stuff out. Hell, by then you might even be ready to move out." One of those brilliant Octavia-smiles flashed across her face, both triumphant and excited.

I lift a palm to shake my fingers through my hair, a typical stress tick of mine and one O knows well. It means I've given in. "Okay. Alright. When can I move in?" My voice sounds tired in my own ears, and I feel like in the last few days alone I've devolved into an old lady.

Octavia pulls me into an excited hug, pressing her cheek against mine. "Any time this week. And I'll go with you and introduce you to him and whatnot, just to diffuse the awkwardness."

Right. That. I groaned a bit at the reminder. Even though I didn't personally know Bellamy, he was far from being a stranger. I had heard several stories from Octavia, sure, but they had been somewhat diffused since the two are related. It was the stories from the 4 or 5 of my friends who had slept with him that made it weird.

"Let's go tomorrow. I don't want to be a thorn in your guys's side anymore, and besides, maybe a step in the right direction will make everything else fall into place."

My words were far more hopeful than me.


	2. Just Another Day

That night, my mind is fucking relentless. Even the jug of wine slowly emptying into me does nothing to quell my worries. Embarrassing scenarios flash tauntingly across my consciousness, breeding an overwhelming stress which leaves my shoulders in knots. _What if he's a total jerk? What if he knows Finn? God, what happened with Finn and I?_ Its like every worry duplicates, and then those worries duplicate. I achieve a manageable buzz, and suddenly the crossword I'm doing requires a bit more focus, replacing the mental spiral I had been caught in. Yet still an unavoidable truth hangs over my head; even if everything works out flawlessly, there's no way this place can even begin to compare to the apartment Finn and I lived in.

Around dawn, I give up on the puzzle and give in to sleep.

For the first time in a week, I don't wake up at 5 am. I wake up at noon, with a heaviness in my bones that can only be achieved by a wine drunk all nighter. I clamber out of bed, stumble into the kitchen, and to my relief, there's a pot of coffee ready.

"Do you think Lincoln missed your company this morning?"

I turn to see Octavia standing by the island, the nearly empty wine jug hooked on her forefinger.

I smile as humbly as I can. "I'd like to think so. Coffee?"

She rolls her eyes, but nods, and I pour the steaming liquid into matching Mickey Mouse mugs. We settle into the cushioned window seat (one of the first things in the house to be renovated,) and spend a few moments watching the outside world. Its rather uneventful, a few cars meander past, an old lady charges the sidewalk with a St. Bernard.

"What do you think you'll wear today?," O says, turning her warm, sincere gaze towards me.

Of course this is the first thing she wants to talk about. Octavia loves beautiful things above all; she has a perfectly maintained garden, she surrounds herself with art and music, and she's always dreaming up new ways to improve her home. "Probably a t-shirt? If I move in, I'll have to unload some stuff. Let's be practical."

She scoffs, flicking an errant strand of hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. I took out a wall in a dress. I think you can handle looking nice while you carry a few boxes of beanie babies up an elevator."

"I look nice in a t-shirt."

"You know what I mean!"

I take a long drink of coffee. "Sure, whatever. I'll wear a dress, but you aren't touching my hair and make-up." My stern tone is lost in the glee of her responding smile.

Once Octavia is excited, there's no stalling her. She darts off and disappears around a corner, into a hall. I have no choice but to follow, cradling my coffee like the precious life-giving nectar it is. When I reach her bedroom, she's already chosen three dresses and has them splayed across her bedspread.

"We have sweet and carefree, a cherry blossom patterned a-line on a minty background. Then we have punky and spunky, don't give a damn," she gestures to a slate gray t-shirt dress, "And the 'I didn't come here for you, I came here for me'- striped maxi dress! What more could you want!?" She picks up the maxi dress with a flourish, exalting it's attributes.

It's not even a question for me. "Pass me punky."

It doesn't take us long to get ready. Octavia is already ready to go, perfectly prepared from the moment she wakes up every morning. I change quickly, swipe mascara across my lashes, and throw on a pair of black boots. Its only five minutes, and suddenly I'm ready to take on a whole new living situation. (A decision I begin to question as we situate ourselves in my car.)

The drive itself isn't so bad. Lady Gaga's infectious beats are impossible to resist; we jam our way towards certain disaster. Except for that little perk, its pretty much like every other drive we've taken throughout the course of our friendship. The sun roof opens, someone tries to race us, Octavia makes a petty remark about the layer of filth I've cultivated in my car, only now it's worse because of the added boxes and bags mounted in the backseat. Perhaps the only fault of this journey is that its too short; it only takes half an hour, aided by how annoyingly empty the freeways were. Where's the standstill traffic when you need it, amirite?

The apartment complex is small and painted a warm golden hue, several signs anointing it as Seababy Heights. "Wait... Are we near the beach?"

Octavia looks at me like I'm mad. "It's two blocks that way, dude. Did you not realize what part of the city we're in?"

"I really need to get out of my own head."

I park on the street, not willing to commit to the rather tight looking parking garage tucked against the complex's side. Octavia makes to unbuckle, other hand on the door handle, but stops in her tracks when her eyes land on me. We look at each other for a second, and I know that my face is the picture of discomfort. She stays buckled.

"Clarke, its going to be okay."

There's no way she could possibly see the future and know it as truth that everything would be okay, but even so, the words comfort me.

I inhale deeply, suddenly appreciative of scents of mint and fries wreathing my car. "Yeah, I know. Still sucks though."

A hand darts across the center console to grasp my own, tight. "Of course it does. It probably will for a while. But it'll be okay... You just have to, I dunno, let the okay-ness settle in around you."

"Let's go then."

It's exactly the kind of pep talk I need- short and sweet. Which is pretty considerate of Octavia, considering I've heard her narrate a five-paragraph essay in order to cheer a friend up in the past.

As soon as we're both out of the car, she takes my hand again, leading me up the pavement. From what I can see, the complex is bigger than I first assumed, suggested by the many tree-lined paths tucked between each building. It's actually pretty lovely, everything's webbed with vines and peppered with fragrant, star-like flowers. _Wow... This might not be so bad_ , I think to myself.

We walk up a set of old, peeling stairs, turn a corner, and there it is. Apartment 13-C. Octavia knocks on the door once, then tries the handle, which gives easily under her touch.

"Bell! We're here!," she calls, stepping aside. I'm beginning to severely regret my actions, but my hand is still clamped in hers and she pulls me in right after her.

The first thing I see is the ping-pong table. It's smack-dab in the middle of the living room we're standing in, looking incredible out of place between some wicker chairs and a coffee table. It takes up most the space of the somewhat cramped room, partially blocking the television, but I'm actually appreciative of it's presence. I fucking destroy at ping-pong.

And if it hadn't been throwing off the aesthetic, the place would have immediately come off as, well, cute. The colors are all soft and beach-y, the walls a nice off-white which further brightens the room. Although the window provide plenty of natural light on their own- the living room opens right up into a kitchen, which boasts an arcadia door and a line of wide windows. There isn't much art in the place, but the books piled everywhere give it plenty of personality.

"How's my most favorite little sister?"

The warm voice is immediately followed by its source, Bellamy, as he emerges from a hallway branching to the left. Octavia squeals, releasing my hand to stretch her arms toward him expectantly. He obliges, pulling her into a tight hug.

Which puts him face to face with me.

We look at each other with the inquisitiveness only strangers could have, each studying the other's face shamelessly.

My friends are right. He's handsome, although his face is disembodied while tucked in his sister's shoulder. Warm eyes, a curious quirk to the corner of his lips; the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Especially handsome.

"You must be the famous Clarke. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. O talks about you constantly."

A sheepish smile crosses my face, surely without my permission, and I shoot Octavia a scalding glance when she pulls away from him. "I guess I have no chance of making a good first impression then, huh?"

"Eh..."

This is not a satisfying response.

"I think you already have. Care to see the room?"

Octavia is almost buzzing as she watches for my reaction with an intensity more suiting an astrophysics class. I can almost hear her laughing in my mind, "So far so good, right?" And yeah, so far it is so good. Perhaps too good. There has to be some kind of catch, something to ruin it all and leave me off worse than before... right?

Even my own cynicism is beginning to sound unconvincing.

"Lead the way."


End file.
